Hiding Your Heart
by theforeverfangirl
Summary: 'Sherlock, ordinary people, aren't like us. They let things, cruel people, distractions of others, close relationships, change them. Make them react, make them weak, create their pressure points. It might feel beautiful, at first, but in the end, the only thing that matters is you, and your goals.' But would being emotionless be a advantage, or would it only make things worse?
1. Chapter 1

**Hi, everyone! Here is a bittersweet fanfic I have written, in which the Holmes brothers open up about the issues in their pasts that made them as they are now. Contains Kid!Lock and TeenCroft flashbacks and lots of emotion. Contains some spoilers for 3x02. All characters and some plot points are the property of the BBC. Please follow and review!**

Hiding Your Heart

He had to get out of there. It was too loud, too bright, too many people laughing at too many stupid things. John would never notice he had left, no one ever had. He simply melted away into the shadows, where many still believed he belonged. The street was dark and he turned up his collar against the cold east wind. _Coming to wipe all the unworthy off the face of the Earth…_

 _The five-year-old boy stared at the bark of the oak tree and tried to hide behind a clump of foliage as a 12-year-old shadow came closer and closer._

' _Bad first day?' Mycroft looked the bruised boy up and down. 'You didn't do as I told, did you? You should have kept your head down.'_

 _The boy shook his head as tears prickled in his ice blue eyes. 'They were playing tag, Myc. I was playing with them when suddenly I was on the ground. I didn't do anything wrong!' Mycroft climbed up to his brother and looked at him, even though climbing trees was high on the 'Things Mycroft Doesn't Do' list. He never let anyone call him 'Myc' either. But Sherlock was always the exception._

' _No, no no! They may be idiots, but they rarely beat people up without a reason.'_

' _All I did was tell the boy who I was next to that his father was having an affair with his school teacher and didn't care about him, not really. Am I a freak, Myc?' The tears in Sherlock's eyes burrowed deep into Mycroft's soul. 'No, Sherlock. Remember this and this pain will cease to exist, forever: all lives end, all hearts are broken. Caring is not an advantage.'_

It was difficult, though, Sherlock thought bitterly. Very difficult. Not showing he cared when he really did, seeing the word in their thoughts as if they had it painted across their faces: _FREAK!_


	2. Chapter 2

Mycroft. Mycroft would understand, like he always had. He had no one else anyway. He hailed a taxi and replayed snippets of conversation in his mind as he passed through London's depths. _No…that sounds stupid…that's even worse…_ He arrived outside the grand house and dallied on the cobblestones. The cool air blew his curls around his head like his unresolved thoughts…whirling…swirling…

Mycroft answered the door to see a sight he always doubted he would ever see…Sherlock on his doorstep.

'Sherlock?' Mycroft asked, his eyebrows forming the well-known 'Mycroft look'. But before the sound had properly left his lips the dark youth had already marched through the door and had disappeared behind a corner. Following his brother into a fire-lit sitting-room, his face contorted into a rare look of surprise as Sherlock said, 'I need to talk to you, Mycroft.' Mr Holmes the elder sat in an armchair facing Sherlock and waited. Sherlock opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again.

'People, in general, are all the same. Even us, in some respects. We all want fulfilment, happiness.' He barely dared to look up, but he did. His brother nodded slowly, unsure, for the first time, of where the conversation was headed.

'For me, it's cases, murder, the thrill of the chase. For you…admiration…recognition…power…? We all have something. But, at the wedding, there were so many people there, so many faces, and…they were all the same. Except mine.'

'I'm sorry. As rare as it is for me, I don't understand you, Sherlock. 'All the faces were the same', what are you talking about?'

'They all had the same expression, lightheaded joy…like they could all see something…' Sherlock hesitated, then admitted, '… _feel_ something, that I couldn't. Despite what John says, we are human, you and I. We're people, the same way everyone else is also a person. But,' now Sherlock's face cracked into an expression of confusion, a childlike mask, of almost shameful qualities. 'Do you think we're missing something? Like, everyone else in the world, whilst being idiots, has something we don't?' Mycroft stared into his little brother's pained face. After a while he replied, very slowly, as though carefully choosing words to put his thoughts to sound.

'Sherlock, ordinary people, aren't like us. They see streets and shops and people and places, and what they see is streets and shops and people and places. Their minds are like puddles, and ours are like the Mariana Trench. They let things, cruel people, distractions of others, close relationships, change them. Make them react, make them weak, create their pressure points. It might feel beautiful, at first, but in the end, the only thing that matters is you, and your goals.'


	3. Chapter 3

The sudden tenderness in Mycroft's voice surprised Sherlock. 'You sound like you're speaking from personal experience.'

'We all make errors, Sherlock. I was…young, very young. I learned from that incident and…never looked back.'

 _The plump, red-haired boy walked through the school gates for the first time. He had been home-schooled until today, his first day of High School. The 12-year-old waddled into the well-kept grounds and soaked in the surroundings. Boys and girls his age and older were scattered in his line of vision like chocolate chips in his mothers' biscuits…Mycroft smiled at the thought. 'Friends'. The reason he had voluntarily left his bubble of his mentally challenged brother and father, his reasonably intelligent mother, and Redbeard. The first chance to meet others, interact, develop good connections and achieve his goal of working, maybe even heading, the Secret Service for Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II._

 _She was beautiful, in his Maths class and completely perfect in every way. Her name was Zoe, and she first approached him for help with homework. He had hidden his abilities from her, knowing she would only shrink away. She was the only true friend Mycroft ever had. She was Mycroft's first love. But then…she realised that Mycroft was far from normal, she called him creepy and dangerous, she said he should be locked up in a cell forever. He returned home that day, and cried. He cried until he was sure he had cried enough to never cry again._

 _The little boy was sitting on Mycroft's lap, and Mycroft prayed that Sherlock would not have to suffer in this way._

' _Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock. Remember that.'_

 _And as always, the small child took his brother's word as law._


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock bit down his curiosity, there would be time for that later.

'Sherlock, I know it's hard. I know it hurts.' Mycroft grimaced at his brother, his eyes rather sad-looking in the firelight. 'I would not have done things this way, I would not have taught you to do the same, if people weren't as cruel and ignorant as they are. They may be goldfish, but they know the meaning of the words 'outsider', 'abnormality' and 'different'. All they ever did was see us for what we could not help. And instead of asking for us to bestow wisdom on their tiny minds, they viewed it as threatening. We both care about things, of course we do, I care about work, the country, my colleagues, Anthea, our parents…and …I care about _you_.' Mycroft wiped his eyes quickly. But, for someone like us, openly showing our affection and intermingling ourselves with others too intimately always has and almost always will and in disaster. We are too different, Sherlock. Trying to be like others makes us even more alone. So, while, in some ways, others do experience things we don't because of their relationships, their friends, their feelings…it is safer for us to keep our distance. I am seven years older than you Sherlock, it may be hard, but it is for the best.' Mycroft and Sherlock took turns gazing at the floor, then at each other, missing each other's glance until finally, their eyes met. Sherlock made a gesture, it was simple, but it was clear. Mycroft pulled his younger brother into a quick, awkward embrace and sighed.

'I should leave, Mycroft.' Said Sherlock, after a few moments had passed.

Sherlock strolled along the London footpath and smiled to himself, he wasn't so alone after all.


End file.
